Page 4 of Polo Fever
‘I hope so,’ I say on an exhale.
She pulls me into another hug, keeping hold of my shoulders as she pulls away. ‘You’ve got this. I have to go back to work but I’ll see you later.’
‘Don’t be late.’
‘Please! TheStudiocrowd are likely to be the first to arrive, we’re so excited,’ she assures me. ‘Oh, quick question, no biggie: are those sculptures I saw for sale?’
I can’t stop a smile. ‘They will be.’
‘Uh-huh. And they’re an exact replica of Chris Courtney’s body?’
‘An enlarged likeness of his bare torso, yes.’
‘Uh-huh. And, out of interest, how can one purchase said feats of creation?’
‘The artist was planning on auctioning them off from tomorrow. I have to call her to let her know that they’ll no longer be on display for the event tonight, though, so I’m not sure how well that’s going to go down.’
‘Oh, I think she’ll have no problem finding them a good home even so.’
I grin at her. ‘See you tonight, Sam.’
‘Remember,’ she says, backing away from me and almost walking straight into someone carrying several LED glitter balloon lamps they’ve had to remove from the ceiling, ‘whatever the stress of today, you’ll laugh about it later.’
‘That a promise?’ I call out after her.
‘It’s a promise,’ she cries back, waving before disappearing through the door.
The moment she’s gone, I’m pounced on by someone needing my opinion on whether we still need the menus or if they should be scrapped altogether, whilst someone else askswhat I want them to do with the artificial cherry-blossom decor and the gold palm trees.
By the time the event starts, I’m drained, exhausted, and terrified that we won’t pull this off. Sam was right: tonight is down to my hard work the past few weeks and if it goes well, everyone will know that I was behind it. They’ll also know that if everything goes wrong, too. But I do my best to mask my nerves with a warm smile, on hand to welcome the crowds of VIP guests filtering into his exclusive party. Everyone knows the moment Chris arrives because there’s an eruption of noise from the swarm of paparazzi gathered outside, the frenzy of flashing bulbs from their cameras lighting up the windows. I straighten, my mouth dry, heart racing.Here we go.
As he breezes through the door, a cheer goes up and Ren glides over to greet him accompanied by a round of applause. The two of them shake hands, smiling at the room, posing for photos and soaking up the attention of their adoring fans.
Chris catches my eye and breaks into a wide, disarming smile.
And just like that, everything feels okay.
Two
The next morning, as I wait for my two soya flat whites in the coffee shop next to the office, I’m in a great mood. Last night could not have gone better. Despite the chaos in the lead-up to it, everything went smoothly. The food and drinks went down a storm, the atmosphere was fun and exciting, the venue was packed, and from the snippets I heard from those that matter who were there last night, Ren’s new collection was admired. I had no doubt that this partnership with Chris Courtney was going to do wonders for both their careers.
‘He’s Wimbledon’s answer to David Beckham,’ an editor proclaimed to Ren yesterday, and from the way everyone was clambering to speak to him at the party, I’d say she has a point.
Collecting my coffee order when it’s called out, I stroll to the office with a spring in my step. I punch the code into the door and push inside, waiting for the lift and smiling as I think about the night before. The first sense I have that something is up is the greeting I receive from the intern as I pass her desk.
‘Morning, Natalia,’ I say brightly.
She glances up and goes bright red.
‘Uh… hi,’ she says, looking uncomfortable.
I notice her glance to the person to her left. They share a smirk.
That’s weird, I think, but continue to my desk which is by Ren’s office at the back.
Things only get stranger on my journey. I notice a ripple of whispers and even some snickering, as though everyone is in on a joke I’ve missed. Placing the coffees down on my desk, I take off my jacket and hang it over my chair, growing more and more confused at the way people are glancing over at me. I stealthily check the mirror on my desk to make sure I don’t have anything on my face, but confirm I’m all good.
‘Hey, Raff,’ I say, catching our branding manager as he passes my desk, ‘what’s going on this morning?’
